


i ain't in this for your revolution

by fourailes



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, M/M, Multi, R2-D2 is here too, Star Wars AU, oh and no one is anybody's sibling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-18
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourailes/pseuds/fourailes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is on a strictly diplomatic mission (no really), Eponine is not in it for your revolution, and R isn't sure what he wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hologram guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stoneandsnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoneandsnow/gifts), [guinevere_grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guinevere_grey/gifts).



> this was originally requested on tumblr as an e/r/é drabble. it um, snowballed.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, he didn’t know who this was addressed to, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him taking this dumb droid all the way to fucking Alderaan for some pointless rebellion. His rebel days were long gone.

He hated leaving home, unless it was to spend a night at the one bar within fifty kilometers of his shitty farm. But necessity dictated he find a new droid to help with this year’s harvest that was his entire livelihood, so here he was trying to make a deal with a couple of stubborn Jawas.

“That one.” He pointed at the little blue and white droid. It seemed friendly enough, and hopefully it would actually prove helpful.

The Jawa he was addressing turned to chatter to another one and then reached out to shake his hand. _Finally_.

He grinned lopsidedly and waved the droid over. It came, but with a series of confused beeps. He managed to strap it securely to the back of his speeder and took off for home, wondering if he’d find a way to adequately communicate with this beeping thing.

Dropping the droid off in the garage, he grabbed a couple of beers from inside and his tool box from the back step. He spent about ten minutes fiddling with some of the more obvious loose bits, and the droid beeped happily at him (or at least it sounded happy), so he figured he must be doing something right. 

Then it became a game of ‘hot or cold’ to try and find what else needed to be fixed up. Whenever he got close to a part that needed attention, the droid would beep faster, and when he moved away it would slow down. He was even starting to have fun, and the excited beeping when he read out “R2-D2” prompted a smile.

“That’s what they call you, huh?”

More excited beeping.

“Well then, R2-D2, let’s finish getting you fixed up, and tomorrow we’ll put you to work, yeah?”

He let his hand fall to the droid’s side, and he followed the beeping to an unfamiliar slot. After a bit of poking, R2-D2 let out a distressed sound, and he stumbled back as a hologram was suddenly projected from the slot.

He tried to focus on the blurry image before it disappeared just as suddenly.

“The fuck was that?” he demanded.

This string of beeps was almost apologetic, and when he reached for the slot again, R2-D2 got excited.

“So this is broken, too, then? Sorry, buddy, I don’t know what the fuck this thing does. I might not be able to fix it.” Internally, he rather hoped he could, so that he could get a better look at the hologram, which had the appearance of a very attractive human, as far as he’d been able to tell.

After half an hour more, he’d caught another few glimpses of Hologram Guy--enough to convince him that he _definitely_ wanted to see more of this mysterious message. He’d managed to pick up a few words of it here and there, too, enough to know that this guy, whoever he was, was in some kind of trouble.

R2-D2 let out a string of beeps that sounded suspiciously like expletives, and he chuckled. “We’re nearly there, don’t get all bent out of shape.”

As it turns out, they _were_ nearly there, and a moment later the hologram started playing, apparently from the beginning. 

He didn’t have a problem keeping his eyes trained on Hologram Guy, who was probably the most attractive person he’d ever laid eyes on. And he tried to focus on the words, he really did. But R2 kindly played it on a loop.

_“General Valjean.”_

Why was that name so familiar?

“ _Years ago you served General Lamarque in the Clone Wars. Now I beg you to help us in our struggle against the Empire.”_

Hologram Guy was staring straight into his soul, and it made him vaguely uncomfortable...in more ways than one.

“ _I regret that I am unable to convey this request to you in person, but my ship has fallen under attack, and I’m afraid my mission to bring you to Alderaan has failed.”_

Alderaan. Oh.

“ _I have placed information vital to the survival of the Rebellion into the memory systems of this R2 unit. Lamarque will know how to retrieve it.”_

The Rebellion. This guy was a leader of the fucking Rebellion. He knew there was something off about all this.

“ _You must see this droid safely delivered to him on Alderaan.”_

Well, he didn’t know who this was addressed to, but it sure as hell wasn’t going to be him taking this dumb droid all the way to fucking Alderaan for some pointless rebellion. His rebel days were long gone.

_“This is our most desperate hour. Help me, Jean Valjean. You’re my only hope.”_

Shit. Jean Valjean. That was a name he knew.

Something unfamiliar stirred in his gut, and he brushed away the approaching guilt. Valjean was dead for all he knew. It wasn’t his job to find him. It wasn’t his job to help this guy. Maybe he wanted to, just a little bit. But insanely attractive Hologram Guy was probably already captured, tortured, and killed by the Empire. Not his problem. Not like he could do anything to help anyway. Even if he wanted to.

He was so absorbed in the looping hologram and his own thoughts that he didn’t hear anyone enter the garage.

“Grantaire?”

He spun around, grabbing an empty beer bottle and instinctively shattering it against the table before he realized his visitor posed no threat. “What are you doing here?” he growled.

The older man ignored his question and gestured to the hologram. “Where did you find that?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I did hear my name...”

“So?”

“Grantaire, there’s no reason to be--”

“ _Don’t. Call. Me. That._ ” He knew Valjean didn’t really deserve such hostility, but he couldn’t quite be bothered enough to care.

“I’m sorry, you prefer that ridiculous nickname now, is that right?” Valjean’s voice was harder than he’d ever heard it.

“R,” he said, a little more softly. “My name is _R_.”

Valjean huffed. “That’s not a name, it’s a letter.”

“All the same.”

Changing tactics, Valjean pointed to the broken bottle R is still clutching. “Is that your weapon of choice these days, then?”

“It was handy.” He tried to keep the note of defensiveness out of his voice.

Valjean nodded. “Of course, I can’t imagine a handier weapon. Or one more suited to you. You wield that bottle like a natural, _R._ ”

R scowled at him and let the bottle fall. When it crashed to the ground, R2-D2 paused the hologram and released a series of concerned beeps.

“It’s alright, R2,” both men said at the same time. R glared at Valjean and put his hand to the droid protectively.

“Yes,” Valjean said, “we’ve met. Now would you mind replaying that message? It is for me, after all.”

R shrugged and turned away, busying himself with appearing busy. “How’d they even know you’re here, anyway,” he said, carefully keeping any genuine curiosity out of his voice.

“ _They_ don’t know,” Valjean corrected. “Lamarque must have entrusted the information to Enjolras.”

“Enjolras.” R rolled the name around on his tongue, for a moment, tasting the syllables carefully before finally letting it fall from his lips. “That’s...?”

“The young man who needs my help, yes. I don’t know if I’ll be able to assist him the way he believes I can, unfortunately.”

R snapped his head around. “What do you mean?”

Valjean shrugged. “You’ve seen me. I’m hardly in peak physical condition, R. I’m not the man Lamarque remembers from the wars.”

“Bullshit. You can take one stupid droid back to--” R2-D2 interrupted him angrily. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean that.” R glared at Valjean. “Just take him, will you? This guy...Enjolras. He’s clearly in trouble. You should help him.”

“That’s not quite what I was referring to,” Valjean corrected gently. “I don’t have a ship, and obviously Enjolras will need more help than I could offer, if he’s been taken by the Empire.”

“Prob’ly dead already,” R muttered.

Valjean nodded. “Yes, probably.”

“You can’t just give up!”

“Why not? You clearly have.”

R stared at his shoes. “Well, I’m me. Giving up is all I was ever good for, right? Class A fuck-up, lazy-ass layabout, good-for-nothing f--”

“Enough.” R flinched at the steel in his old mentor’s voice. “You were none of those things until you chose to be.”

“Chose to prove them right, you mean.”

“Which is very unlike the Grantaire I know.” Valjean wasn’t backing down, even when R glared daggers at him.

“The _Grantaire_ you know doesn’t live here anymore,” he snarled, reaching for his second bottle of beer. “Take the droid and fuck off. I don’t care what you do.”

Valjean looked at R2-D2 sadly as R strode out of the garage, slamming the door behind him. R2-D2 beeped sadly.

“Don’t worry,” he told the droid. “He’ll come around.”


	2. tusken rager

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I thought I told you to get off my property.”  
> Valjean looked up at R’s silhouette in the doorway, entirely unconcerned. “I believe your exact words were ‘I don’t care what you do’?” R2-D2 voiced his agreement, despite R’s annoyed huff. “We’ve been making plans,” Valjean continued. “And I’m afraid I’ve not been able to work out any scenario that doesn’t involve you, son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obviously i'm basing some stuff on specific scenes...but other stuff is just whatever i felt like writing to move the story along. so here's that then.

The landing ramp began lowering and Eponine tightened her gunbelt. As soon as the searing Tatooine sunlight hit her gaze, she let her fingers rest on the trigger guard of her blaster. One fight to let Bahorel work off his energy, and that was it. No shots fired. Not unless she had to.

Bahorel and Eponine entered the cantina with a practiced air of “nope we’re not smugglers at all” and “nothing to see here”, respectively, and made a beeline for the bar.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” Eponine complained. She turned to the bartender. “Whatever that thing is you guys are famous for. I’ll have one.”

Bahorel grinned and tapped the counter. “Make it two.”

Eyeing him warily, the bartender mixed their drinks and slid them across the bar. Eponine paid him while Bahorel bared his teeth again (in an expression that might have been friendly if not for his sharp teeth and twinkling black eyes).

“Alright, you.” Eponine elbowed him. “I’m gonna disappear in that corner for a bit, but I’m cutting you off at one, got it?”

Bahorel saluted. “Yes, ma’am.” As Eponine turned to walk away, he clapped her on the shoulder and winked. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Eponine only shook her head and made her way back to a booth she’d spotted in a dark corner. She’d give it twenty minutes, tops.

* * *

“I thought I told you to get off my property.”

Valjean looked up at R’s silhouette in the doorway, entirely unconcerned. “I believe your exact words were ‘I don’t care what you do’?” R2-D2 voiced his agreement, despite R’s annoyed huff. “We’ve been making plans,” Valjean continued. “And I’m afraid I’ve not been able to work out any scenario that doesn’t involve you, son.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re not dragging me into this shit. I told you, I’m done.”

“Don’t worry,” Valjean assured him. “We just need a ride to Mos Eisley. I’ll even buy you a drink. One of those...tartan--?”

“Tusken Rager,” R replied with an almost-grin. “Fine. A ride. Then you’re on your own.”

Valjean nodded sadly. “That’s all I ask.”

Eyeing him warily, R turned away. “Let’s get going then. I want to be home before dark.”

“You know Mos Eisley isn’t exactly known for the savoriness of its characters...” Valjean began.

R patted the knife on his belt.

“As handy as I’m sure you are with that, sometimes you need that extra edge.”

“No.”

Valjean stood. “Don’t be stupid, boy. You’re better with it than I ever was.”

“I don’t even know where it is,” R lied.

“Well maybe you should consider taking a look around.”

“ _No_.”

“It’s a simple enough request,” Valjean attempted.

“‘A ride to Mos Eisley, that’s _all I ask_ ,’” R mocked.

“And you’re going into the bar with me. It’s dangerous.”

“Cantina,” R corrected automatically. “And they don’t allow weapons.”

Valjean had never looked more skeptical.

“....Fine. But only because I don’t want to get stuck trying to save your ancient ass with nothing but a dull knife.” R glared at the old man, but stuck his hand into a drawer and pulled out a small metal cylinder. He blew the dust off and stuck it in his belt. “Happy?”

“I feel safer already.”

* * *

It didn’t take Eponine long to lose sight of Bahorel, but she knew she’d be able to keep up with him well enough once he got into trouble. She settled into the booth, keeping a wary eye out for the less welcome types of trouble. She didn’t have to wait long.

“Fancy seeing you here, ‘Ponine,” Claquesous drawled, sliding into the seat across from her.

Eponine rolled her eyes. “What a pleasure.”

“So where’s your bodyguard?”

Eponine only raised an eyebrow.

“You got a lotta nerve, showing your face around here.”

“As it so happens, I was just on my way to see your... _boss_. Tell him I’ve got his money.”

Claquesous shook his head. “Too late for that, ‘Ponine. You shoulda paid him when you had the chance. Being daddy’s little girl won’t get you outta this one. Boss put a price on your head so large, every bounty hunter in the galaxy’ll be lookin’ for you.” His ugly face curved upward into a semblance of a smile. “Lucky I found you first, huh?”

“Yeah, well, this time I’ve got the money,” Eponine told him, shrugging and letting her hands drop beneath the table.

“If you give it to me, maybe I’ll forget I found you,” Claquesous offered.

Eponine shifted slightly and rested a hand on her blaster. “I don’t have it with me, alright. Tell Thenardier--”

“He’s fucking through with you, ‘Ponine! You’re useless to him if you’re gonna drop your shipment every time you get looked at funny.”

“Even I get boarded sometimes. You’d know all about _that,_ ” she smirked. _“_ You think I had a choice?”

“Well you can tell that to your father. Who knows, maybe he’ll only take your ship.” Bitterness was not a good look for Claquesous, Eponine decided. It was _one_ _time_ , one time she’d left him high and dry, and in her line of work it was eat or be eaten. He was still alive, wasn’t he? A few toes short, maybe, but alive.

She barked out a laugh. “Over my dead body!”

“Yeah,” Claquesous growled, “that’s the idea. Oh, I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you have.” Eponine saw his hand move to his belt and reacted instinctively. Her blaster was out and fired before she had time to think about whether it was a good idea, and Claquesous collapsed onto the table, blaster clattering to the floor.

She took a deep breath and looked around, noting that most curious glances had already been diverted. She still had enough of a reputation here, it seemed. And anyway, all the locals knew that anyone who messed with Thenardier’s men was not to be crossed. When Eponine rose from the table, drink forgotten, to hunt down Bahorel, only one person was still looking her way.

* * *

R’s hand had gone to his belt as soon as he’d heard the blaster, and one Tusken Rager was hardly going to impede him if this came down to a fight. But when he looked toward the source of the commotion, there was only a lean, dark female figure holstering a blaster and moving away from the table. Valjean seemed unconcerned, almost out of sight at the other end of the bar, conversing with a very large humanoid alien R would not have been inclined to trust. 

With one hand still hovering near his weapon, R watched the girl with the blaster as she threaded her way through the crowd towards Valjean. He looked away after the third time she glanced over at him, but then quickly slipped away from the bar to follow her. He told himself it was only because the artist in him liked the curve of her neck and the spark in her eye, but there was a tiny, annoying part of him that knew he should make sure she didn’t pose a threat to Valjean.

The girl made a beeline for Valjean’s drinking companion, making eye-contact and jerking her head towards the door. He grinned and shook his head, waving her over, but she had already turned away...and collided with R.

He immediately grabbed her shooting arm to twist it behind her back, but she stomped on his foot and had his own knife to his throat in half a breath.

“How did you--?”

She pressed a little harder, and he shut up, rolling his eyes at Valjean, who had finally decided to take an interest and was making his way over to them.

“Oh!” Valjean exclaimed, clapping his new friend on the shoulder. “It seems they’ve already met. R, this is Bahorel--he and Eponine here might have a ship for us. Me and R2, of course,” he added, a little too quickly.

The girl--Eponine--looked to Bahorel for reassurance before taking the knife away from R’s neck, which was starting to sting. R smiled crookedly at her and grabbed her wrist. “I believe that’s mine.”

Eponine glared at him and shifted her weight, and for a second R was afraid she was going to stomp on his foot again--or worse. But then Bahorel was punching her shoulder and offering R a menacing smile, and Eponine stepped back, letting his knife clatter to the floor. R snatched it up as Eponine turned away, and if he took the opportunity to check out her ass, well...only Valjean noticed.

“Bahorel,” Eponine hissed, “let’s go.”

“They’ll pay,” he told her with a shrug.

“Him,” R corrected, pointing to Valjean. “ _He_ will pay. I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

Bahorel shot him a quizzical look. “That’s funny, your friend said--”

“Alas,” Valjean cut him off. “R only came along for moral support. How about another drink?” he offered, gesturing for R and Eponine to follow him back to the bar.

R backed away. “Looks like you’re in capable hands, I’ll just--”

“I’m buying.” R glared, but allowed Valjean to drag him to the bar. “I think you and Bahorel would get along quite nicely,” Valjean hinted, plunking R between the two strangers and standing at Eponine’s shoulder. “Now, go ahead and order while Eponine and I discuss logistics.”

Leaving Bahorel to order drinks, R watched Eponine turn her back, flipping her hair over one shoulder and resting an elbow on the counter. Sketching was still something he did. Sort of. And he hadn’t tried figures in a while, but he thought perhaps he’d make an exception for this girl. She carried herself with more confidence than any man he’d ever met, and her lean muscles actually made him a little jealous. The urge to brush her hair off her shoulder was purely artistic, of course, as was the inclination to run his fingers over the tanned skin, and the ache to see more of said skin. In another life, R thought perhaps she was the type of girl he would have admired from a distance, slowly gathering up the courage to tell her how pretty she was only for her to punch him the gut and laugh and maybe back him up against a wall and kiss him--but not in this life. In this life, he was a twenty-something washed-up ex-Jedi, and girls just didn’t go for guys with a bunch of hyphenated identifiers who only ever drank and farmed and taught tai chi to hobos. Plus he didn’t even like her that way.

“Wait you want to _what_?” Eponine’s voice rang out in disbelief, jerking R back to the present. She dropped her voice considerately, but her tone didn’t change as she continued. “You’d better expect to pay pretty fucking well if you’re asking me to risk my ship--” (“And me!” Bahorel whined) “--stealing some dumbass diplomat’s kid from the Empire because _a droid asked you to_.”

“Let’s be clear here,” R interrupted, accepting his drink from Bahorel without a glance. “Who exactly is the dumbass? Because the placement of your modifier in that sentence was pretty vague, and--”

Eponine stared at him. “The kid.”

“Well, he’s not exactly a kid,” R contradicted. “More of a young adult, really. How old would you say he was, Jean? Eighteen, nineteen?”

“Twenty-five.”

R did not spit out his drink. He wasn’t that dramatic. He did, however, choke a little. “ _Twenty-five_?!” Well, that certainly changed things. “Doesn’t make a difference,” he shrugged.

“Of course not,” Valjean agreed, nodding. “Not for you, anyway. But it does mean he’s in considerably more danger than a younger man might be.”

It was bullshit. R _knew_ it was bullshit. It couldn’t be anything other than bullshit. “That’s...are you sure?”

Valjean nodded again. “Oh, definitely. You’ve interacted with the Imperial fleet recently, Eponine. Don’t you agree?”

“Uh...” Eponine looked between R and Valjean, clearly confused by the exchange. “Yeah, maybe, I guess?” she offered when Valjean nudged her foot.

R forced a shrug. “Guess you’d better get going then, huh?” Not his problem. Not relevant that Valjean was hiring this girl to take him out to god-knows-where in a misguided rescue mission. Not relevant that Enjolras, the dumbass diplomat’s kid, was only two years younger than him and probably in mortal danger. Not relevant that Bahorel seemed objectively awesome. Not relevant that Eponine was fucking hot. _Not relevant not relevant not relevant._

“It’s a shame you’re not coming with us,” Valjean remarked casually, writing down a number that made Eponine’s eyes go wide. “I’m sure no one would mind an extra...gun. But of course,” he added, “you’ve made your position on the whole thing quite clear. Perhaps we’ll be able to hire someone else to come along.”

R tensed at that. He had to admit he didn’t like the idea of Valjean (and Eponine) trusting some random mercenary to help them rescue Hologram Guy, whose physical presence was probably even more interesting than his holographic one. Not that it mattered.

“Do what you want,” he muttered. He tilted his head back to slurp down his drink and missed Valjean’s triumphant smile.

“The kid’s probably already made one too many dumb mistakes anyway,” Eponine commented, finishing her own drink in a slightly less dramatic fashion.

R glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“Uh, nothing? That he clearly wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if he had any idea how to handle himself, and so he’s likely made a shitload of other mistakes since they took his ship or whatever.”

“You don’t know that,” R snapped automatically.

“Oh, what do you care?” She shrugged. “And no matter what your friend says,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m not convinced you’d be an asset anyway.”

R pushed away from the bar and hopped to his feet. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

This time he missed Valjean’s triumphant smile because he was on his way out the door.


End file.
